


Can't We Trust Again

by ceterisparibus



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, Foggy Nelson Is a Good Bro, Human Disaster Matt Murdock, Idiots in Love, Pepper Spray, Post-Season/Series 03, Ray Nadeem deserved better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-11 07:07:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16471052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceterisparibus/pseuds/ceterisparibus
Summary: Matt and Karen try to figure out the balance between honesty and boundaries between a vigilante and a reporter. But neither of them is very objective because they're both totally in love.





	1. Please Don't Close the Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karen wants to even the playing field between them.

It was way too late at night to be listening to this stuff, but at least she wasn’t alone.

She sat in Matt’s office chair listening to Dex’s voice and the voice of his therapist alternate in her ears, watching Matt twirl a pencil between his fingers as he sat on the desk. He provided a nice balance to the warped darkness streaming through the headphones. He looked like the tired but determined lawyer she’d first gotten to know: clothes slightly rumpled, tie askew, hair ruffled from running his hands through it, a bruise fading on his cheek.

Which she could see, because she’d taken his glasses off. They were resting on the table now, and the dim overhead light shining through the lenses made two red spots on the paperwork he’d left lying on his desk.

She propped her chin on her hand and stared openly at him. That was the beauty of him being blind; he couldn’t tell.

“You’re staring at me,” he announced.

“You don’t have any proof, Counselor.”

“That wasn’t a denial, Miss Page.”

“Quiet, Matt. I’m trying to listen to a serial killer.”

He mimed zipping his lips and added a second pencil, spinning both between his fingers. It was mesmerizing and he was definitely showing off for her.

Finally, Karen slid the headphones off and shook her hair free. “You weren’t kidding. This is…twisted stuff.”

Setting the pencils aside, he took the headphones and began winding the cord around them to put them away. “And he’s still out there. Somewhere.”

“Can’t we do something? I mean, we have this as evidence, we could…” She cut herself off with a sigh. “And you’re shaking your head at me. I’m being stupid.”

“Not stupid,” he corrected softly. “Just that this isn’t exactly admissible. It’s privileged communication between a therapist and her patient.”

“He was saying dangerous, threatening things. Isn’t there an exception to that?”

Surprisingly, he looked delighted. “Foggy shouldn’t have gotten you started with exceptions.” He ignored the indignant noise she made. “And you’re right, but only if the threat is imminent or to an identifiable victim. Someone saying scary things isn’t good enough. We could try to publish it in the paper, but…” He trailed off.

But what? The fact that she no longer had a job at the _Bulletin_ , or he didn’t want to put her in danger, or he didn’t think it would do any good? “You know,” she said lightly, “I wish you’d complete a sentence every now and then.”

“What?” He cocked his head with a sheepish smile. “Sorry. I don’t realize when I’m doing that. I’m just thinking out loud until I think better of whatever I’m thinking.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s kinda cute.”

His eyebrows raised and his eyes lit up. “You’re calling me cute, Miss Page? Is that really the best adjective you can come up with?”

Between his cocky grin and the way he said her name, her heart skipped a beat…and he could hear it. She felt herself flush and knew he could sense that too. This, _this_ was why she’d been so furious with him.

Actually, no. This was one small pebble on top of the mountain of reasons she’d been furious with him.

“Stop,” she said.

His face shuttered instantly. He put his glasses back on.

Dropping her gaze to the notes on his desk, she shuffled some pages around, pretending to reorganize them. “I’m sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong.” This time. “I just…it hit me, you know? That you can still tell what’s going on with me. It was great when we were fighting for our lives and you could hear me across a room, but now…”

“Now it’s not that simple,” he provided quietly. “I understand that it still makes you uncomfortable.”

“Foggy and I have _both_ talked with you about the whole agreeing-with-us-when-we’re-trying-to-argue thing.”

“Do we have to argue?” The words were almost small.

She finally looked up from her pages and, sure enough, he was slumped a little in his seat, face angled downwards—away from her. She sighed and, before she could think better of it, got up and sat on the edge of the desk, right beside him. He turned his head back towards her, waiting. Biting her lip, she reached out and gently slid the glasses off his face.

“There,” she said. “Now we’re almost even.”

His surprised expression instantly proved her point. “What?”

“You know how unfair it is for you to shield your eyes while you’re listening to our heartbeats?”

“Karen, I don’t—”

“Because it is. Just like it’s unfair for you to listen in from another room or…or a _rooftop_ …and we don’t even know.”

“It’s not—”

“Or ask me all about my brother and let me talk to you like he’s alive and you must have known I was—” her voice cracked. She cleared her throat while his question—what’s your brother like?—echoed through her head. “It’s not fair,” she said coldly.

“I know. I’m sorry.” His eyes flicked around her face and she’d made the right call taking off the glasses because now she could see the guilt there. Also confusion, because he clearly still wasn’t sure why they’d started fighting in the first place. “You have every right to be angry with me.”

All the energy seemed to seep out of her bones. “I don’t wanna be angry with you anymore, Matt. But…I can’t seem to stop.”

He licked his lips and said nothing, but walls were rebuilding in his eyes.

This was her fault.

It was just that she wanted to go back…not to how things were, because as humiliating as it had been to discover what he could do, she knew there was no way they could have moved into a deeper relationship of any kind while he was keeping so much of himself a secret. Forget romance; their friendship was at a dead end until he became more honest.

Until she became more honest.

“Can I help?” he asked suddenly.

She mentally rewound the conversation to the last part she’d said out loud. “Not unless you can teach me how to hear heartbeats too. Put us on even ground.” She sighed. “I think everything I’m feeling is kind of my problem to deal with.”

He seemed to consider that, then nodded shortly.

She realized belatedly that maybe that was unfair to him. “Listen, Matt. I know you can’t change your, um, senses. And I wouldn’t want you to anyway, even if you could.”

Something a little more hopeful flashed across his face for an instant.

Narrowing her eyes, she leaned a little closer. Without the glasses, his expressions were like a kaleidoscope. Everything he was feeling was right there for anyone to read.

As long as that person was fluent in Matt Murdock’s Emotional State.

Except she’d seen him in court and with clients enough to know that he could hide all of that pretty well if he really wanted. Not perfectly, but better than what he was doing right now. Which meant that, right now, he was choosing to trust her.

So maybe she could work with this.

Trust went both ways, though. “I have an idea.”

He shifted so that he sat more upright. “I’m listening.”

“You know how with polygraphs, you have to kind of get a sense of a person’s baseline before you start asking all the questions? By the way, do _you_ do that?”

“I don’t really have to ask questions. Just being around someone gives me a baseline.”

“Okay. But what if I did something like that with you?”

“Spent time around me?” he echoed doubtfully.

“Kind of.” She drummed her fingers lightly on the table. “What I have in mind is a bit more intense, actually.”

He blinked and, perfect, there was obvious confusion there. Also curiosity and maybe even anticipation over whatever “intense” might mean.

“Don’t get any ideas, Murdock. It’s just…” She hesitated, because explaining her rational risked ruining the accuracy of the test. But it was also giving him an example of mature, adult communication and the part of her that was still bitter kind of wanted to rub it in. “Okay. I’d like your permission to ask you lots of personal questions and listen to all your personal answers so I can study you and figure out how to tell what you’re feeling almost as well as you can tell what I’m feeling. I know you said before that I could ask you anything, but this time I’m stipulating that we have these conversations without your glasses. So I can see what you’re thinking.”

“So, basically, you want to turn me into a lab rat?”

“Right, but, see, it’d be consensual.”

His head lowered a bit; he’d gotten the message. “Yeah. Sure, fine. I’m guessing I don’t get to ask anything in return.”

“You can try. I can’t promise I’ll answer.” She hesitated, hating the fact that she now felt like the bad guy. She thought about Agent Poindexter, spilling his soul to his therapist. She didn’t want that kind of power dynamic between her and Matt. She didn’t want Matt to see her as a therapist, even if he allowed himself that kind of vulnerability. “Just…I’m trying to figure this out.”

“This?” he repeated carefully.

If he wanted her to say “relationship,” he’d be disappointed. “I don’t know, Matt. I just want some way for us to be on even footing.”

“I’d like that,” he said a little too quickly.

She smirked a bit, smug despite herself. “I know.”

“And, for what it’s worth, I…I’m willing to try. Whatever you want to know, I’ll tell you. And you can try to read my face if you want.”

Maybe she really was the bad guy here, but she actually felt excited at the questions that were already popping into her head. Like: what was it with that creepy blind guy she’d found in his apartment? What had he and Frank Castle talked about when Frank ran into Daredevil? What was the story behind the woman in his bed?

What was kissing like with his senses?

Why, if he’d known she was lying about so much for so long, had he ever been interested in her?

“Karen?”

She almost jumped when he put his hand on her forearm. “Right.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I’m guessing you’ve thought of something.”

Reaching out, she swept a piece of his hair back into place, remembering Josie’s before it had started raining, sitting at the table together while Foggy got them all more drinks. She remembered how he’d made her feel so noticed, _seen_ , even intrusively so. But back then, it hadn’t been offensive. It had been a gift. She took a deep breath. “What was your dad like?”


	2. I Don't Want to Lose You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt and vulnerability. And pepper spray. (Have y'all read "how to pepper spray your best friend in the face" by Whiplash? Highly recommend.)

He couldn’t stop smiling. He smiled while he put on his tie and he stopped halfway to his kitchen on the way to make coffee, just to remember how she’d touched his hair. And to smile again.

What was he, seventeen?

But Karen was giving him another chance. Maybe. Sure, this could just be part of rebuilding their friendship. But he’d take what he could get.

He smiled mostly through work, ignoring Foggy’s obvious stares. Even putting on the suit couldn’t quite dampen his happiness because Sister Maggie had been right. Karen knew he was Daredevil and she still chose to stick around. And, yes, she was lovely.

But once he was out on the streets, there was no opportunity to indulge in a schoolboy crush. He stopped an attempted kidnapping that would certainly not end with kidnapping and he wished, not for the first time, that he could do something before the attack was imminent, do something to turn the enemy back before he ever put a particular victim in his sights.

For now, he’d do what he could.

He stopped two other muggings on his way to where the Nadeems were staying. Sure enough, she was in a drug store a few blocks down from her new place. Matt settled in to wait.

Technically, Foggy was still her lawyer, and Matt trusted he was taking good care of her. Matt was doing everything he could for her, too, as Matt Murdock, esquire. But Seema didn’t really know him and he didn’t need heightened senses to tell that she didn’t trust him. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

He couldn’t quiet the voice in his head that said she was right not to.

After all, if he hadn’t been so completely distracted after the botched grand jury, if he hadn’t been so single-mindedly focused on Fisk, he would’ve remembered Ray still needed protection. He would’ve known he was still in danger. Maybe if he hadn’t been so inexcusably self-involved, he could’ve kept Rahul Nadeem alive and his son would still have a father.

He wasn’t going to make the same mistake with Seema.

As far as he could tell, she wasn’t in direct danger. At least, not from Fisk or even from Vanessa. But she was a single mother living in New York, and he was worried that everything that happened with Ray would still bleed into her life.

Like now, for instance.

It had started off with typical catcalls once she left the store, the kind Matt heard every night. They grated, but unless someone threatened immediate physical harm, Matt usually had other priorities.

Tonight, however, the calls directed at Seema were shifting towards something a little more dangerous.

“Where’s your boyfriend, huh?” one of the men called, until the other elbowed him in the ribs and whispered something about how she looked familiar. “Hey! Is he that agent? The one that worked for Fisk?”

Quickening her pace, Seema didn’t respond. Not that her iciness would do much good; the men were sidling towards her.

“Hold up, baby! You’re lonely, right? After your husband got his head blown off?”

Seema drew pepper spray from her bag. “Stay away!”

It wouldn’t be enough. Gritting his teeth, Matt leapt silently to the ground behind the men. He heard her sharp intake of breath as she saw him, but his presence didn’t stop her from unleashing her pepper spray on the men.

The spray wasn’t even directly at him, but Matt yelled out even before the targets did. His face was on fire; his eyes were swimming in acid. The men screamed curses and at least that helped Matt locate them. He punched one in the kidney, kicking in the back of his knee and dropping him to the ground. The second screamed again, in both fear and pain now. Matt sunk a clumsy hook into his gut and the man doubled over. Using his momentum against him, Matt pushed him over his own knees onto the ground. Two kicks to two heads and both men were unconscious.

Seema was gone.

Safe, probably.

Matt stumbled into the dumpster, bracing himself against it and pressing his face into his forearm, fighting the urge to throw up. “ _Gah_ …”

Tears streamed freely under his black mask. He ripped off the flimsy material and tried to wipe at his eyes before realizing that only the tail ends had avoided being soaked in pepper spray, and he had no idea which parts were uncontaminated. And now his face was exposed, but he couldn’t handle the thought of putting that mask back on over his burning skin.

Where? Where could he go?

The office was closer than home.

 

He was so out of it from pain and nausea, he didn’t even realize anyone was in the office when he burst through the door. Karen shrieked, holding something defensively, and he realized an instant later that he’d narrowly avoided a second round of pepper spray to the face.

“Just me,” he pushed out through his gritted teeth.

“Matt,” she hissed. “What happened?”

He kept his eyes screwed shut. “Pepper spray. Karen, _please_ …” Please help, Karen, but he couldn’t quite get the words out.

“Hold still!” She dashed to the kitchen and stood on her toes to root through a high cupboard. Swearing under her breath, she fell back onto her heels. “Foggy’s restocking the first aid kit.”

Matt tried to make his way to the bathroom and tripped over a desk or something.

“I keep telling him he doesn’t need to take the entire kit with him to restock it, but…” Karen’s words trailed off. Her hands appeared at his shoulder, pushing him down into a chair. “Stay _still_ , Matt.” She darted into the bathroom and returned with wet paper towels. “Hold this. I think I have eye drops somewhere…”

Eye drops weren’t gonna make a dent in this. Nothing could, probably. He’d just die here. It was fine.

She was back in a moment. “Can you open your eyes for a moment?”

He tried. “ _Geeze_.” It hurt so bad. He felt water land all over his face. Some drops managed to reach his actual eyes and he told himself it was helpful. He wasn’t sure how long they sat there, she alternating between wiping at his eyes and pouring what must be a full bottle of eye drops over his face, he concentrating on forcing his breathing to even out. “I’m fine.”

“I need more paper towels.”

She left and was back in a flash. He loved her proximity but hated the concern. He lasted for all of ninety seconds before trying to pull away. “Karen, I…”

“Shut up and hold still.”

He obeyed, twisting his mask in his hands.

Finally, she sat back. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“You know. The usual.”

“You don’t usually get pepper-sprayed.”

“The person I was trying to protect had it handled, I guess, but I wasn’t sure when I engaged.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you gave it a shot anyway.”

He huffed a laugh and winced at the metallic taste in the back of his tongue. Still nauseated. “I should’ve known. She’s brave.”

“Who is?” Karen’s voice took on the edge she got whenever she found some new puzzle. “Do you know her?”

He groaned and dropped his head onto the desk, hoping that would dissuade her. A stupid hope.

“Matt,” she pressed.

“It was Seema Nadeem,” he admitted, his words muffled by the desk. “I’ve been…keeping an eye on her.”

“And she’s okay?”

Raising his head, Matt shot her his best attempt at an incredulous look.

“Okay, fine. But you’re not.”

“I’ve actually been pepper-sprayed before. It’s not that bad, I just need—”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” The tips of her fingers pressed against his jaw, tilting her head. He wondered what she thought she could read in his face. “Every time something comes up with the Nadeems, you get all…distant or broody or something.”

Every part of his body tensed. The Nadeems reminded them all of Fisk; that was common. But Matt was only just beginning to unravel what they meant to him. Specifically. How Agent Nadeem's lies had hurt Seema, how Nadeem had left his son fatherless after fighting so hard to be someone his son could be proud of. He couldn't put any of that into words right now. “Karen. Let it go.”

“I thought we were done with the lies.”

“It’s not…I’m not _lying_. And this isn’t part of your…” He waved his hand vaguely. “Inquisition.”

“It’s not an inquisition, Matt! I just—”

He stood up unsteadily. “I can’t do this right now. I need to finish a motion for the Thomas case. The deadline to file is in two hours.”

He felt her temperature rise with growing agitation. “Don’t hide behind a deadline.”

There was nothing he could say that wouldn’t just make things worse. “Thanks for everything, Karen. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

_You lied again and again._

He wished he’d never heard Seema’s words. It wasn’t fair; that conversation should’ve belonged just to husband and wife. But Matt had been right outside and she’d sounded so angry. He hadn’t been able to block it out.

_Again and again._

He didn’t want to lose Karen. He’d already lost her at least twice; first with Elektra, then with Midland Circle. And it had taken so long to crawl his way back into her life. Part of him, the selfish and cowardly part, was already shrinking away from the inevitability of losing her again. That part of him thought recklessly that he may as well speed the process along, just to get it over with.

The other part of him, the part that was just as selfish but considerably more brave, refused to let that happen.

 

According to Foggy, Matt looked like he was sporting a magnificent sunburn the next day at the office. Fortunately, they didn’t actually have any client meetings _or_ court appearances that day. Nothing but paperwork. That also meant nothing to distract him from the lingering itchiness and ghost stinging sensations. But he could live with it, and he thought he was doing an excellent job of being normal, all things considered.

Foggy stuck his head into his office. “Everything okay?”

Apparently not. Matt begrudgingly pulled his hands away from his reader, resigning himself to whatever conversation Foggy had planned. “Yeah, man. Just tired.”

His friend made a buzzing noise. “Wrong answer! But that’s okay, folks, because it’s still half true.”

“What?”

“The tired part is true. I mean, it’s always true with you. Always true with _me_. We’re adults so we have to be tired. It’s probably in the Constitution somewhere. I’d know if I didn’t sleep through Con Law.”

“You didn’t sleep through Con Law, Foggy. You got a B plus.”

“The curve was kind to me, my friend. Also, Professor Allen probably had a crush on me.”

Given that they’d taken most of their classes together, Foggy knew as well as Matt that the exams had been written anonymously. That didn’t stop him from insisting, every semester, that his grades were due to his winning personality.

That was irrelevant. Matt listened for a moment just to double-check that Karen really had left for the day. Then he refocused on Foggy. “You said my answer was half true.”

“When, just now?” He wandered deeper into Matt’s office. “Oh, right, because I don’t think for a second that you’re actually okay.”

This again. Foggy was insistent that Matt was broken or traumatized or something. It was starting to get a little abrasive. But that wasn’t the issue Matt wanted to resolve right now. “And me saying I’m okay, that’s a lie?” he asked.

“It is if you know you’re not. Or if you should reasonably know with substantial certainty that you’re not.”

“Well, you lie about stuff like that too.”

“I do not,” Foggy protested, indignant.

Actually, he was kind of right. Foggy wasn’t a complainer per se, but he wasn’t shy about letting everyone in the office know about the variations of his mental and emotional state. Matt started tapping the fingers of his right hand on the desk. “All right, fine. But people…people in general lie about that all the time. It’s normal.”

“Sure, but I’m pretty sure something else is going on. More than the pepper spray.”

“Nothing’s going on,” Matt said automatically.

“ _That’s_ a lie.”

Point to Foggy. He sighed. “It’s Karen.”

“I knew it!” Foggy crowed. Then he seemed to realize the significance of that statement, and the hand he’d punched in the air dropped to his side. “Oh. Sorry, man.”

“What for?”

The fabric of his sleeve brushed against his skin as he flapped his hand vaguely through the air. “You know, it’s just a challenging personality stew. You, the silent and secretive vigilante. She, the reporter with insatiable curiosity. You’ve both been acting weird all day.”

“I’m not silent and secretive.”

“How many years was it before you told me about your dad?”

Several.

“Or that creepy guy, with the stick or whatever?”

“Foggy, don’t.”

“Or—”

“Okay, I get the picture.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m just trying to figure it out. Thanks for the help, buddy.”

“Are you…” Foggy leaned in closer. “Are you _dismissing_ me, Murdock?”

Matt laughed. “Kind of.”

“Okay, I can take a hint. But, for the record, I’m glad you’re trying to figure this out, and I’m sure you will. Figure it out, I mean.”

“Thanks, Fogs.”

“Also…”

“Foggy.”

“Just let me say this.” Foggy inhaled and said everything else in one breath: “Just between you and me, I think Karen can handle leaving one or two mysteries unsolved, you know?”

Matt cocked his head. “I…don’t know. What?”

“You’re allowed to keep some stuff personal, Matt. Remember that. That’s all. Okay, I’m leaving now, before this gets anymore awkward or I have to charge you for the therapy.” With a parting goodbye knock on the door, Foggy retreated to his own office, leaving Matt to lean back in his chair and try to wrap his head around Karen.

He remembered being crammed together in that coffin. The scent and sound of her surrounding him, the feel of her pressed against him…he hadn’t earned that moment with her, he knew, but he could still cherish it.

Afterwards, sitting on the cold underground steps, listening as she unveiled her secret…he didn’t think he’d earned that either, but she’d chosen to share it with him, to share that part of herself.

He wanted to give her something like that but what she was asking for was different. He’d told her he was Daredevil; that was a specific secret. Manageable. This, though? Free range to pick through his brain, his life? Nothing off limits?

He’d let her ask anything and he’d answer as best he could. But maybe he was a coward after all because he was terrified.


	3. Tell Me What You Need to Keep Our Love Strong

He opened the door. He was wearing that red shirt. The one his mother had given him. And he made it look great, but it also sort of melted Karen’s heart for a totally different reason.

She wondered if he’d worn it around Maggie yet.

“Hey,” he said.

His voice sounded mostly normal. His expression looked normal, too. His posture was confident: one hand on the door, the other in his pocket. A pose he often used in front of a jury.

But she wasn’t convinced.

“Can I feel your pulse?” she asked.

He flushed slightly. “Well, it’s racing now that you’ve said that.”

“Can I?”

He waved his hand, stepping aside to let her in. “Go ahead.”

She touched her fingers to his neck, right below his jaw, where his skin was warm and rough with stubble. The vain pulsed there, just a bit faster than her own heartbeat.

“I didn’t realize we were starting immediately,” he whispered.

“I haven’t even asked you anything yet.”

“But this isn’t really about the questions and answers, is it?”

She bit her lip. “No, it’s not.” Finally, she lowered her hand. Only when he slowly exhaled did she realize he’d been holding his breath.

He took a step back and kind of jerked his head toward the rest of his apartment. “You want a drink or something?”

“Oh, please.” She followed him down the dimly-lit hallway into the marginally better-lit living room, accepting the bottle he gave her.

He gestured to his furniture. “Wanna sit?”

Nodding, she settled on the couch and he only wavered between the remaining options for a moment before he sat beside her. They were in almost identical positions to when they’d first sat on this couch together. She still couldn’t hear his heartbeat, but she _knew_ him now. She recognized his nervous tic of rubbing his thumb over his finger, saw the way he tilted his head slightly downwards as if to avoid her gaze. His eyes were wide, flickering slightly over her face. She still couldn’t hear his heartbeat, but it felt like the balance of power between them had been reversed.

This was all her idea, so why did she suddenly want to escape the tension? “Okay, um.” She opened her bag and withdrew the notebook and a pencil. “I went ahead and wrote out some questions. If we, um…”

“One condition,” he said quietly. “Some things should be off the table.”

“Like what?”

 “I’m not sure, but I’ll know it when I hear it.”

She nodded. “Right, okay. And, um, actually…I’m sorry if I kind of forced you into this. You don’t have to tell me _everything_ about everything. We’re two different people. You’re allowed to keep some secrets.”

He smiled. “Foggy talked to you too, huh?”

And now she was blushing. “He’s good at that.”

“He’s like our marriage counselor,” Matt said just a little too casually. He was testing the waters.

“Um, kind of.” She looked at the first question she’d written. It suddenly seemed too harsh to lead off by making him explain the creepy old man and the woman in his bed. She skipped a few questions down. “What do you really think about Frank Castle? You said before that you’re a Catholic attorney, so you trust God within the legal system. But you’re also a vigilante.”

“Yeah. Uh, I disagree with the extent of his behavior.”

“So if he just followed the Daredevil model…?”

“I also don’t think he’s particularly stable,” he added reluctantly. “Not stable enough to operate outside the law. Although…” His mouth twitched in a humorless smile. “I can think of a few people who’d say the same about me.”

“How much time did you spend with Frank?”

Unlike Foggy, he didn’t wince when she used his first name. “As Matt Murdock, very little. As Daredevil, much more. I’m not sure if he knows they’re the same person.”

“But you still think he’s insane? You know his story _and_ you understand the need to take the law into your own hands.”

“I’m sympathetic to him, Karen. Really. But…the guy’s crazy. You _know_ that. Don’t you?”

Since she couldn’t actually disagree and didn’t really want to argue about Frank Castle anyway, she drew a line through that question and prepared to move on.

“Karen,” he said.

She looked at him.

He seemed to search for words, eyebrows drawing together. “Are you still in contact with him?”

“He’s not a threat to me, Matt.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “I know.”

“And I don’t need another safety lecture from you.”

“I know.” He ran his hand through his hair and seemed to search for more words, but just settled on: “Sorry. Uh, you can go ahead with your next question.”

“Right.” She pushed her hair back behind her ears and scanned her list. The question she’d added most recently jumped out at her. “The Nadeems. What’s wrong with them?”

“Nothing’s wrong with them.”

“I mean, with you and them.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Foggy and I both talked to Ray before he passed, and we’re not…” She changed direction. “I mean, I guess neither of us escorted him through gunfire,” (because Matt had told her about that and it sounded like something out of a Jason Bourne movie and she kind of wished she’d been there to see it, except no, that was a stupid thing to wish), “but you still seem…” She searched for a way to say it that didn’t sound rude. “Off.”

He pressed his mouth into an unhappy line. “Yeah. I’d rather not talk about that.”

Okay, that seemed weird. Of all the things he might’ve put on his “Boundary: Do Not Cross” list, the Nadeems were not what she’d expected. She shouldn’t push. She really shouldn’t. But… “Can I ask why?”

Logically, being blind should have nothing to do with his ability to make expressions. It was still kind of funny to see him aiming a deeply displeased glare at his own fridge behind her.

“I’m not asking you to tell me anything more than what you’re comfortable with,” she said, hoping that was true. “I just don’t get why the Nadeems are a, um, sensitive issue.”

“How am I supposed to explain why that’s a difficult question without getting into what makes it difficult?”

“Okay, okay, you’re right. Sorry.”

Threading his fingers together, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and staring at the coffee table where, not long ago, she’d been sorting his mail for him. “I heard things,” he said slowly, carefully. “Things Ray talked about with his wife…and his son. And, forget whatever I personally thought of it, I can’t talk about it with you because I wasn’t supposed to hear it in the first place.”

She was definitely not about to forget that he’d personally thought something about those conversations. But still. “I can respect that.”

“Good. Thank you.”

She hated that voice, that awful, polite voice he used when he was trying to create distance. But she kind of deserved it, didn’t she? “Okay,” she said, shooting for a lighthearted tone and missing completely. “Moving on.” She looked back at her list.

A _list_. Why had she decided to bring a list? As if this whole interaction wasn’t awkward enough already. Pressing her lips together, she snapped the notebook closed.

Matt cocked his head at the sound.

“Why’d you keep it a secret?”

He didn’t have to ask what she was talking about. “You know why.”

“Not just from me. From Foggy, too. For years.”

“Because…” He tilted his head back as if staring at the ceiling. “Because it’s not that simple. I’m not Tony Stark; I can’t just say I’m Iron Man and still get to live my life.”

“Because of the illegality?”

“Not just that. It’s…Tony Stark is a technological genius and everyone knows it. It’s not hard to see how he could go from making weapons to making literally anything else. But me? I was blinded, Karen, and the way I see the world is due to toxic waste messing with…everything about me. Throw in the fact that, as Foggy says, everything I can do is _creepy_ and inappropriate…” Hopeless bitterness seeped into his voice and he was still staring at the ceiling, but now she suspected it was because he didn’t want her to see his face.

Shame washed over her because she hadn’t thought of it like that. “And you can’t even help it.”

He exhaled something between a sigh and a laugh. “Exactly.”

When she’d first learned about his abilities (and she still wasn’t sure he’d told her the full scope), there’d been that flash of jealousy. Think of how much you could learn about the world, about every person you met. Think of that it would mean if someone approached you on the street and you already knew if he was focused on you, if he was too excited, if he had a gun….

She hadn’t thought about what the rest of it might mean.

“Does that answer your question?” he asked tiredly.

“Yeah. Um, yes.”

He shifted a bit closer. Or maybe she was imagining things. “Anything else?”

Might as well get it out there. “Why’d you fall in love with me, Matt?”

He froze. “I, uh…”

Clasping her hands together in her lap, she tried to articulate it. “I mean, if you knew how often I was lying…did you really think I was as innocent as you treated me?”

“Yeah, I knew you were lying, but I also knew you were scared. And I knew you really didn’t have any reason to trust Foggy or me, not at first. And later…well, we were all keeping secrets by that point.”

“Guess so,” she murmured.

“Besides all that, I knew you were smart and beautiful and brave.”

“You can’t know I’m beautiful.”

He grinned. “Agree to disagree. I also knew your sense of self-preservation was about as small as mine. Now I know yours might actually be smaller.”

“And that’s a good thing?”

“Well, it means someone’s on my side when Foggy starts lecturing me for endangering myself.”

She scoffed. “You hypocrite.”

The grin fell away. “I’m sorry I was so, uh, overbearing before, Karen. I should’ve trusted you. With my secret, with keeping yourself safe, with…with a lot of things, really.” He paused for a long moment and tilted his head towards her. “So, is this helping?”

“What?”

“You,” he clarified. “Is this helping you?”

She closed her eyes, wishing she could lean into him, rest her head on his shoulder. When exactly had she lost that right? “I don’t know, Matt. I’m still angry, but it’s not just about you and your senses. It’s everything.”

“I get it,” he said quietly.

“No, you don’t.” She kept her eyes closed. “You don’t know what it’s like to be on the outside. You were born and raised here in Hell’s Kitchen. You’re a hero in whichever suit you wear. And you and Foggy? The two of you read each other like you’re identical twins or something and then there’s just…just _me.”_

He didn’t say anything to that.

“Maybe it’s stupid of me to think that this could change anything. I’ll never have what you guys have with each other and I’ll never have your senses so I don’t know why I—”

She heard him breathe in slowly. “I want you to have something like that with me, Karen." His words hung in the air, soft and vulnerable and unlike him, and it was her fault for putting him in this position, for demanding he reveal himself to her. "I want to be a safe place for you.”

She kept her eyes squeezed shut. “Doesn’t mean I’m a safe place for you,” she whispered before she could stop herself.

Frowning, he tilted his head in a way she now took to mean that he was reading her. There was that flash of anger again, like she was naked in front of him and there was nothing she could do. She pushed it back. She could choose to believe that he was doing this for her, somehow. She owed him that belief, in fact, because for all his flaws, she knew he wanted her to be okay.

His eyes moved up to her face. “You’re scared,” he said softly.

“I think I’ll always be scared.”

He didn’t tell her she didn’t have to be. He didn’t tell her he’d keep her safe. He just said: “Why?”

She’d told him too much in that church basement, too much that now she couldn’t take back. And she hadn’t even told him everything yet. He didn’t know that her own father thought she ruined everything she touched, no matter how hard she tried to fix things.

And wasn’t that true? Wherever she went, people ended up dead. First her brother, then Daniel Fisher, then Ben, then Father Lantom—all dead because of her mistakes. And what about the people she just barely knew, people like Grotto and Jaspar Evans, who were dead just because they’d had the misfortune of being around her for an _instant_?

So Dad had been right all along.

“Karen?”

Blinking, she realized her throat was tight and her eyes were swimming with tears. She could barely make out Matt’s face in front of her.

“Are you…” He cut himself off. “Uh, actually, I think it’s pretty clear you’re not okay right now.”

Wrapping her arms around herself, she mutely shook her head.

“Do you…can I do anything?”

“I don’t know.” This wasn’t where tonight had been supposed to go. “I didn’t come here to talk about me.”

“Why did you come?”

“To…” She drew a shaky breath. “To see my friend.”

His eyes glinted with moisture and she was so glad he wasn’t wearing his sunglasses, so glad to know she wasn’t alone right now. “I’m right here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was hard to write. I hope it turned out okay!

**Author's Note:**

> Work and chapter titles taken from "We Need Each Other" by Sanctus Real.


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